tell us your street racing story!

Agreed....there were no overdrive trannies back then....both the 4-speed manual and TH-400 auto had a 1;00 to 1 top gear....even with a 3.08 rear, you`d be RPM-limited to right around 130-135 mph....

I gotta agree with the evaluation on the Olds. I had the Buick version, a "70 Buick GS Stage 1. Had all the Hurst package stuff as well. It was a great car and fun in a straight line. Not much could top it on the quarter after a little bit of work. But at around 120 my friends 350 Nova could walk past me. It was heavy and I was running the 4:11 rear end. Nothing wrong with admitting the truth.
 
Bill. Harrowing to say the least. And why certain conditions involving my normal use of one handed steering make me tend to be conservative. I drive with hand controls, and I love keeping it between the ditches. Losing a steering knob on Highway 129 on the Dragon taught me respect for my limitations on steering in a hurry. And that's strong upper body me in a little old high miles 1991 Honda Civic DX.

Thanks Kent, it was different and very scary being on a bridge at that.. Yeah !! Found my stupid hat at that moment and put it on !!
I remember driving on another bridge(but this time the bridge was a opposite direction 2 lane !!) in my 1987 Astro van bringing groceries back to my dad`s house one afternoon years ago and was driving in a bad ass rain storm and the original heavy duty legal steering wheel knob straps broke !!
I could have soiled myself, but managed to drop the knob and grab the steering wheel without incident..

Just got internet back @ 11:00 AM this morning from Irma`s PMS episode, and trying to catchup on all the e-mails from my concerned friends/contacts, and finally had a chance to check in on A/K.

Take care Mr. Kent.

Kind regards, OKB
 
Thanks Kent, it was different and very scary being on a bridge at that.. Yeah !! Found my stupid hat at that moment and put it on !!
I remember driving on another bridge(but this time the bridge was a opposite direction 2 lane !!) in my 1987 Astro van bringing groceries back to my dad`s house one afternoon years ago and was driving in a bad ass rain storm and the original heavy duty legal steering wheel knob straps broke !!
I could have soiled myself, but managed to drop the knob and grab the steering wheel without incident..

Just got internet back @ 11:00 AM this morning from Irma`s PMS episode, and trying to catchup on all the e-mails from my concerned friends/contacts, and finally had a chance to check in on A/K.

Take care Mr. Kent.

Kind regards, OKB

Funny irony, I once owned a Astro van in college, a 1993. Lost a Steering wheel knob on it in a very tough crosswind coming home from Chattanooga (had college classes that day in Cleveland, my power chair's recliner motor conked out, had to go to Henley Medical to get the motor changed out, and didn't get home until around 7:30). Rough, harrowing day. Drove home sans knob, and very tired. Went to bed real early that night.
 
This story is also from southern cal, Early to mid 70's. The racing scene in this area Southbay Beach Cities/Van Nuys.. Was in full swing by the time I had acquired my 68 327 Camaro. One a weekly basis I would see Hemi GTX, LS6 Chevelles, Boss 429 Mustangs in the famous Bobs Big Boy lot, In either Van Nuys, Or Westchester.

The summer of 73, Got hold of a true L88 BBC, From my dads coworkers Vette. So, The car was stupid fast, And cursing became the lifestyle. We hit famous Wednesday night Van Nuys Blvd cruises, And hung out. We started hearing of a guy named Bob, With supposedly the fastest car in the valley.

The hardcore racers would sit behind this B of A, Shoot the shit, Set up races. I pulled in there a few times, And got bummed rushed by these knuckleheads with trailered 10 second cars all over the place. They set up races on Wednesday, To run the following Friday, Smart, Way less traffic, And police.

We get wind this guy Bob, We learn his nickname is "Bottle Bob", He is one of the first guys to semi-perfect spraying the American pushrods engine. This guy opened a shop, And did nothing but test, On the street, His solinoid's, Pumps, Whatever it took to make a 427 BBC, Haul ass.
We also learn this night, The brothers from South Central, Have been driving through looking to run Bottle Bob, For $500, A tidy sum in 73. They show up a few weeks in some clunker, Ole Bob's car (65 Glass Vette) Has a hole blown in the block, From to much nitrous. Sorry this is so long.

So, Bob gets his shit together, New 427, Special heads no one even has yet, From Valley Head Service Down the road, 3 Hidden kits, New slicks. He brings the Vette out on a Wednesday, Unheard of I was told, Were at Bob's, Hear the famous Vette is at the B Of A, And Bob needs to test his set up. We go over, And of course, No local car is up to the challenge, It slim pickings that night. Then, A guy on a bike, A bike we've seen around, Kawasaki/Suzuki, Fast, Has whipped some stout cars.

Now, Street racers know, Then, And now, You don't mess with sport bikes, Unless you have a well set up car, You have to "Leave" With it. If you survive the 60ft, Get out of first gear, And if he's still next to you, You have a fighting chance. But you need the engine to pull it off, And the balls to go 150mph or so in a quarter mile.

Bob and the bike guy agree to a $40 race. The rider wants 3 bike length start, Bob says no chance, Rider get 2 lengths. We go out to The farthest street, Can't remember the name, No houses then, Just orange orchards, And a fire house. The firemen always set up lawn chairs to watch, And wait for any carnage. It was surreal looking back. I get a closeup look at the Vette, Fiberglass all cracked from twisting, Gutted interior, Kind of a roll cage, Slicks, Sidepipes. Not all that special, Except it sounded like a nitro funny car.

Bob pulls the glass packs out of the pipes, A guy dumps VHT down, Long burnout. Loud as hell, Firemen clapping, Its crazy. I see the stripes from the slicks, Even, Planted real nice. Car is dialed in. The bike does a token wheel spin, No biggie. Someone walks off 2 bike lengths. A guy walks out with arms raised, Bob gets on the RPM's, Arms down, I'm watching the Vette, The rear squats, Flames out the pipes, Front wheels up, Bob is gone, And leaps next to the bike, Pulling gears, On the spray the whole way, Flames never went out, Its over, Vette wins by a bike length

The firemen are going nuts, It's a circus. Bike guy starts bitching Ole Bob cheated, The engine is this and that, Blah blah. Well yeah, It's street racing, Everybody cheats. Dude doesn't want to fork over the 40 bucks, But is "Enticed" too. A minute or so later, A beat up Impala pulls up, Its the South Central guys, Saw the whole thing, Says there not touching the that Vette. I leave, And see them meet a truck pulling a HemiCharger, On a trailer. Nothing was going to beat old Bottle Bob, For awhile.
 
EDIT: After further reflection I remembered a few more details, so I've edited my story. No embellishments - just a more accurate telling of the story.

I have owned a few choice vehicles with "extra" horsepower over the years - including a 1992 M-B 500E (5.0L 322hp V8), a 1965 Sunbeam Tiger (with a FORD 260 V8) and a 1955 Chevy with a 400ci V8 plus several sport motorcycles. Occasionally while driving the aforementioned cars I'd get into an impromptu street race where the challenger pulls up to a stop light and revs their engine. Depending on my comfort level I may give them a taste of what my vehicle was capable of. Usually everyone got a smile out of the experience and no one got hurt. Perhaps the most surprised challengers were the small sports car owners who thought they could outrun my Tiger (not knowing it had a V8 stuffed under the hood).

The most exciting "race" I participated in though was against a Porsche 911 while riding my 1992 Honda V45 Sabre (750cc/82hp). A friend and I were cruising somewhere in a western suburb of Portland, OR on one of the many two lane canyon roads. There was very light traffic and the area we were in had no buildings or residences facing the road. Paul and I pulled up to a red light behind a fairly new Porsche 911 driven by a youngish woman. I can't remember if she was giving clues that she wanted to race, but I decided to keep up with her if she was game.

My friend was riding an older Honda CX500 twin, so I knew he wouldn't be up to the task, but I had a fairly new sportbike so I decided to give her a run for the money. The light went green and the Porsche took off like a shot. I wisely chose not to do anything risky (like spinning my rear wheel) and smoothly revved my engine up towards the redline in each gear. Therefore the other driver was basically three car lengths ahead of me for the quarter mile we travelled to the next stop light. I remembering glancing down at the speedometer long enough to note we hit 90 mph on that short stretch of road.

We both stopped at the next light with me wearing a shit eating grin. I could hear her air cooled engine fins tinging with the heat of the recent exertion. From what I could see in her rearview mirror it appeared she was not happy I had kept up with her. The light eventually turned green and she pulled away - right around the time my friend caught up on his CX500. Paul and I we continued on to our destination at a more moderate speed. We had a good laugh over the experience later.

It was a memorable and fun experience showing up someone with an expensive sports car while riding a modest sport motorcycle.
 
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When I first met my wife, she was 19 years old and the owner of a 1970 429 Cobra Jet Cyclone.

We first became friends and when we started dating she let me drive. We're coming home from a movie around 11:00 p.m. We were driving up a long hill and a guy pulled up next to us in a Plymouth or Dodge probably had a 383 in it. He didn't know that it was a Cyclone because it was the cheapest version you could get with the biggest motor you could get. There were no spoilers, no hood scoops, just a puke green car with dog dish hubcaps and a black vinyl top. The only thing that gave it away was the bomb sight grill and he couldn't see that.

I'm sure he thought he had a victim and kept blipping the throttle trying to get us to race. Wasn't my car so it wasn't my call so I waved him off. Well he nailed it and got about two car lengths in front before my wife said go go go. So I nailed it and even though the guy was under acceleration we went around him like he was standing still.

This next part sounds like a bad TV script. So we go around him and we're laughing as we pass him which pissed him off I guess. Race was over so I let off but he was so mad he just kept on nailing it which gave us another laugh. So he's out of sight and we're still on our way home and a mile or two down the road. We see flashing lights. And yes, it's him pulled over. We just honked and waved.
 
I gotta agree with the evaluation on the Olds. I had the Buick version, a "70 Buick GS Stage 1. Had all the Hurst package stuff as well. It was a great car and fun in a straight line. Not much could top it on the quarter after a little bit of work. But at around 120 my friends 350 Nova could walk past me. It was heavy and I was running the 4:11 rear end. Nothing wrong with admitting the truth.

Used to have the opposite situation where I grew up.

There was an old black man, who had a 1965 Buick Riviera- I think it was actually a Super Wildcat (dual 4 barrel 425). And even though it had "stock" sounding exhaust- I don't believe it was stock. I'd guess that the old man had once probably used it as a moonshine-runner car, at some time in the past.

Like most Buicks- it was geared for highway use. Probably a 2-something ratio differential.

The kids with their hot-rod Novas and Mustangs and such, would cajole the old guy to come race. He would usually not say anything at first- but when he did- he always insisted that they race for an ENTIRE MILE, and not anything shorter.

They'd take off- and sure enough, the Nova/Mustang or whatever, would just run off and hide for the first quarter mile.

At about the half mile- they'd see the headlights of that Buick, coming up FAST.

And when he came around- many of the people who raced him, said the air blast off his car, nearly blew them into the ditch.

Most of those "hot rods" had 4.11:1 or even shorter (4.56:1 and such) differentials- they would be absolutely floating their valves and ignition points at 115-120MPH.

120MPH, was just where the Buick was getting into the meat of the torque curve. With that dual-quad 425, it would pull to over 150MPH, if given enough space.

One of my Dad's friends who was a sheriff's deputy, said that they BELIEVED that it was that old man in that Buick, that they clocked at 161MPH, one night. Of course, no one even came CLOSE to catching him, so they were never sure.

I do know, that one night, I saw that Buick sitting at a roadside country store- and you could see the exhaust GLOWING RED under the car. He ran that thing to absolutely everything it would do...

Regards,
Gordon.
 
Used to have the opposite situation where I grew up.

There was an old black man, who had a 1965 Buick Riviera- I think it was actually a Super Wildcat (dual 4 barrel 425). And even though it had "stock" sounding exhaust- I don't believe it was stock. I'd guess that the old man had once probably used it as a moonshine-runner car, at some time in the past.

Like most Buicks- it was geared for highway use. Probably a 2-something ratio differential.

The kids with their hot-rod Novas and Mustangs and such, would cajole the old guy to come race. He would usually not say anything at first- but when he did- he always insisted that they race for an ENTIRE MILE, and not anything shorter.

They'd take off- and sure enough, the Nova/Mustang or whatever, would just run off and hide for the first quarter mile.

At about the half mile- they'd see the headlights of that Buick, coming up FAST.

And when he came around- many of the people who raced him, said the air blast off his car, nearly blew them into the ditch.

Most of those "hot rods" had 4.11:1 or even shorter (4.56:1 and such) differentials- they would be absolutely floating their valves and ignition points at 115-120MPH.

120MPH, was just where the Buick was getting into the meat of the torque curve. With that dual-quad 425, it would pull to over 150MPH, if given enough space.

One of my Dad's friends who was a sheriff's deputy, said that they BELIEVED that it was that old man in that Buick, that they clocked at 161MPH, one night. Of course, no one even came CLOSE to catching him, so they were never sure.

I do know, that one night, I saw that Buick sitting at a roadside country store- and you could see the exhaust GLOWING RED under the car. He ran that thing to absolutely everything it would do...

Regards,
Gordon.
That sounds like he worked the motor a bit. Thing is those luxury cars with big motors, especially from GM, would run fast on the highway and had high third member gears, high meaning small number, 2.71:1, something like that. Riviera's and Toronados of the high compression days were highway fast, the Buick had the GS version which had the dual quads. They would light up the tires too causing the transmission to upshift too soon, had to hold it in low if excess wheel spin.
 
Oh- there was also a kid, a couple years older than me in school, whose father bought him a 455SD Trans Am. With a few "warm over" things done to the motor.

One day, he came into the dealership, with the 455 engine sounding like a box of rocks thrown into a coffee grinder.

Dad pulled the engine apart- and found out that he had managed to stretch SEVEN out of eight connecting rods, to where the pistons were touching the heads. Bent valves sprinkled over a few cylinders, too. How it didn't drop a valve, or snap a rod and put a hole in the block, no one will ever know.

The scuttlebutt, was that he was trying to race that old guy in the Buick... apparently, the old guy let it out that it was the closest anyone had come to keeping up with him.

That Trans Am went up for sale, soon as the engine was rebuilt (back to STOCK).

Regards,
Gordon.
 
Oh- and though it isn't TECHNICALLY street racing-

Dad worked at McKellar Motors Buick-Olds-Pontiac-GMC, in Moultrie GA- which for several years, was in a building on Quitman Highway, right next to Blanton's Body Shop. '

One of the guys that worked at Blanton's, in those days, was Ricky Griffin. He and another local fellow, Richard Godley, built some pretty high-end "pro street" cars, right at the beginning of that era (early-mid 1980s). Ricky had a blue Chevy II with a small block with a big blower, tubbed, and Richard had a late-70s Camaro with a blown big block, tubbed. Both of those cars were first-rate- they were regular match race winners at Albany Dragway- and they both wound up featured in Hot Rod magazine, together, in the mid 80s.

Every now and then, when Dad and I were riding through town, we'd see a pair of 14" wide "11s" (pair of black marks) on the street, in front of the body shop. Dad would say "Oh, Ricky must have been "testing" his car again...". :D

Regards,
Gordon.
 
One of several cars that I should have NEVER let go of:
My `66 Grand Prix, which had a very rare option list. It had a 421 High Output engine, 4-speed manual trans (!), 3.42 Posi 12-bolt, those nice 8-lug finned wheels, heavy duty suspension, cooling system, you name it.
It moved out extremely well for such a big boat, showing it`s taillights to many "muscle cars".

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Never did.

Took it to the track or an abandoned parking lot or similar.

Was a bit crazy when young and taking it to the track was the only way to get it out of my system for a week or two and it probably saved my license. Maybe even my life.

Guys would line up at the lights all the time with me and when it went green, they were gone and I was simply driving away. More than once I would drive past them further down the road with them dealing with the cops on the side of the road....
 
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First of all what a great thread. It's a lot of fun to read about everyone's stories. I'm glad somebody brought this thread back from the dead.

I certainly miss the days of hanging out with friends, low-key racing either light to light on an empty road or out on an empty highway ... hurt feelings at worst, new friends at best, everyone was safe about it, NO dumbasses allowed and no safety incidents ever, not a single time, for anyone in our group.

A great article on the topic generally - that should resonate with you whatever your age - was on Jalopnik a while ago about the inspiration for the Fast and the Furious franchise: https://jalopnik.com/how-la-s-underground-street-racing-scene-and-the-fast-a-1825723732

The article reminds me a LOT of my own experiences with friends in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Vermont. I'm in Los Angeles now, and it is so totally different it's really disappointing. Streets are too crowded, people have too much pride (win or lose) ... no such thing as making new friends on the street. It's a huge bummer.

Through all the years of street racing, certain memories of mine stand out:

One, pulling bikes down the highway, from a 50mph dig. If it was a liter bike, I'd see its tails disappear, but the 600s would see mine (if not immediately, by around ~100); although surprised, most of them would give the thumbs up. One guy took both hands off and clapped, that was the best. The SOUND of a sport bike with a short pipe at full throttle 5 feet from your window is QUITE a rush!

Two, on a 3-lane stop light in Phillipsburg, NJ, my buddy in his C5 Z06 on my left, me in the middle, and a minivan on the right with a young boy in the back seat (and no traffic ahead of us). We were revving up ready to launch and the kid was watching with eyes wide. Light turned green, we dumped our clutches, and the kid's face LIT UP. Just PURE joy. We were probably only on it for an eighth, but my buddy was on his street tires and so far behind, he told me he was NEVER racing me again from a dig. I'll never forget that kid's face though.

So many more.

Of course, getting my own doors blown off many many times was all part of the fun. There'll always be a faster car. Always a smile and a thumbs up from me, and if we stopped, a friendly chat.
 
Hard to believe how fast 40 years rolls up behind you, but it`s been nearly that long since the following occurred:
I was headed south on NJ Route 202, headed for Pennsylvania, driving my sleeper Corvair (`66 Corsa, mid-engine L79 small block, putting down around 400 RWHP). I was rolling along at a pretty fair clip, and noticed something low and wide approaching from behind.

It was the first Lambo Countach I had ever seen on the road, driven by a dark-skinned dude wearing a turban ! (I shit you not)....he was buzzing along pretty good, obviously intent on getting to his destination. So, I downshifted to third and went ripping past him at full throttle. Evidently, he was shocked and/or confused, because he quickly pulled up alongside me, eyeballing my humble Corvair in disbelief.

I smiled at him, and pointed ahead, in a "Come on, let`s go !" gesture....we went from about a 70 roll, I was in 3rd, and we stayed into it (and just about dead even) until maybe 120-ish, where his gearing and power gave him an advantage. He motioned to pull over to the side, where we stopped, and got out to talk. He was quite enthused about my car, he wanted to know everything about it. He gave me his business card, his name was Jas Rarewala, he was representing some grey-market importer in Connecticut, and was currently delivering the new Lambo to a customer in Bucks County, Pa.

That little car had embarrassed plenty of muscle cars in the past, but never a true Italian exotic....I felt pretty good.... :)


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